2p Revolution
by Noise-Canceled
Summary: Just what I think is the 2p Hetalia version of the Revolution. No romance, no blood, but some headcanons included.


2p Revolution

"Alfred! Alfred dear, I'm afraid I have a bit more news for you!~" Artie called, trying to find his little brother in the garden.

"It's _Al_," he whispered from somewhere behind a small wall in the garden. "Al, Al, Al."

Soon enough, Artie peeked around the wall Al was hiding behind. "Oh, there you are, dear!" His ice blue eyes seemed to glint with joy at finding him.

Al sucked in his breath and glared at his…caretaker. He refused to consider themselves brothers. They were nothing alike. White-blond messy hair, piercing eyes, and decked in - Al gagged inwardly - shades of pink, the representation of the alternate United Kingdom stood before him.

Al silently cursed him.

As the representation of the alternate thirteen colonies of America, Al had to admit that this crap was tough to deal with. First this damn taxation without representation shit, which his people would not _stop _bugging him about, and now being forced to put up with Artie. Al always felt like he was going to be murdered via cupcake in that house. Sure, Artie baked like there was nothing to it, but Al wouldn't dare trust a thing Artie offered to him. Who knows what poison was awaiting him.

"Alfred," Artie softly whispered, snapping Al out of his thoughts. "Dear, I'm sorry for this. I really am. Now, come on in, dear, I have fresh-baked cupcakes waiting for you!" And just like that, Artie was smiling again.

It made Al sick to his stomach.

"Shut _up_." Al pushed Artie away from him, feeling a little too close for comfort - or was it just paranoia? "I don't have a damn _death wish. _And I'm definitely not going to take any more of your shit."

Artie was taken aback. "Al -?"

"Look, I have to go." Al made his way out of the garden hastily.

"A-alright, dear! I'll be waiting for you!" Artie called after Al's retreating figure.

What Artie didn't know was that Al was serious about leaving.

Al continued to rummage around his old shed, set on finding something - his old cricket bat, specifically. Ever since Artie had given it to him, he had barely used it. He took no interest in the sport. But now, he was beginning to see it in a different light. With a few modifications, he could make it into something that would definitely leave a mark, something to remember.

Al had to admit that he was not the best with tools and shit, and his bat somehow ended up with a more rounded end that had a bunch of nails sticking out. Al sighed and cursed under his breath. He would get better. But for now…

Al took a few practice swings and immediately began to get the feel of the bat and its force. If he swung it right, it could easily destroy anything in his way. It would probably knock someone out cold, maybe even kill someone.

Al took in a sharp breath and thought for a bit.

He then walked out of the shed, bat in tow. He had one last thing to take care of.

Making sure Artie wasn't in the house, he strolled in, whistling a small tune casually. Quickly, he found what he was looking for - the centerpiece of Artie's hall of precious old portraits. It was one where Artie had actually captured one of Al's rare, genuine smiles.

Without a second thought, Al smashed through the glass framing it and dashed out the house, intent on never turning back.

Artie continued to stare out his kitchen window, hands cut up and caked with blood after trying to clean up the glass from the shattered picture. A tray of now-cold cupcakes sitting across from him on the table was his only company.

He was patiently waiting for Alfred to return, and it was getting dark.

The unreasonable part of Artie kept him thinking, hoping, believing that staring out the out the window overlooking the garden would bring him back. His dear little brother, that he loved no matter his rebellious ways.

The sun finally slid down past the horizon.

Alfred had still not returned.

He'll come back, he always comes back, Artie tried telling himself. Soon, he'll be trudging down the path…

Artie felt a small tear begin to fall.

He'll come back…

That day, it was as if something had snapped inside of Artie. Suddenly, noting felt sure anymore. Everything felt as if it would snap at any moment. Everything was so fragile now, so unsafe for Artie. Paranoia, and gradually insanity, began to engulf him and to quell the little bit of grief rooted in him, he baked. Baking always helped with the stress. A dash of poison, some chemicals here and there. The results of his creations always kept him amused while he waited.

Every night, he would still wait, in a way. He would bake a fresh batch of cupcakes and set it out on the table, hoping that it would bring his dear Alfred back. Because frankly, he believed it would.

After all, he had baked every single one without poison.

Every batch he baked for Alfred was perfectly normal.

So he didn't see why Alfred never took the cupcakes he made especially for him.

It was only Artie's way of showing his love for his little brother.


End file.
